<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>for i have already sinned by 4beit</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896684">for i have already sinned</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit'>4beit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, even found families fight, tw: discussion of blood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:48:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>you know what she’s thinking about. you remember, some months ago now, when you had spoken about the realities of working for roman sionis. of course, you had thought you were confiding in friends. you had taken a chance with the people who have saved your life on more than one occasion. it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but until now you thought it had been worth it. you had never expected renee to dredge up the past like this and throw it in your face.</p><p>[or: renee picks a fight and strikes a nerve]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dinah Lance &amp; Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>for i have already sinned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you’re not proud of the work you did for roman sionis. in fact, you spend the better part of your days working to forget what you heard, what you saw and what you did – or sometimes didn’t do -  in the name of earning a paycheque from that man. you try to forget the days you came home needing the kind of cleanliness that not even a scalding hot shower can bring. with your vigilante lifestyle, you find that busy, violent nights keep the worst of the horrors witnessed during your previous employment at bay. plus, you remind yourself, the bad-guy ass you’re kicking now has to count for something in the great karmic balance of the universe. or maybe you’re hoping that’s the case. </p><p>either way, </p><p>you’re still a little bit haunted.</p>
<hr/><p>there is tension rippling through the warehouse space that has become headquarters for the birds of prey. helena is tending to her bike, using it as a reason to be completely absorbed in something that isn’t the hostility in the room. renee is sitting at a table with one wrist in a cast, a beer in the other hand and her attention focused on cleaning her gun. which just leaves you standing, sipping from a mug of tea and stewing. you’re in the middle of an internal debate where part of you knows that just leaving and letting this blow over is the sensible thing to do. a much larger part of you, however, knows that what renee did was reckless and probably should have gotten her killed. </p><p>now you’ll admit, the concept of teamwork had been difficult to negotiate in the early days of this whole shtick. but it’s been damn near a year since renee suggested gutting gotham of its more enterprising criminals and she should know better. hell, you should all know better. even harley, since more or less adopting cass  - without the formal paperwork of course – had chilled out. not as much as any of you would like, but she at least put a text into the group chat if she felt like causing trouble she may or may not get herself out of. renee however, renee should fucking know better and you’re met with the urge to tell her that. to make sure she understands that doing dumb shit like that isn’t cool. </p><p>you take another sip of your tea and feel it soothe the aching in your throat. it does little to ease your anger and finally, dragging you from an attempt to collect yourself, </p><p>renee speaks. </p><p>“got something on your mind dinah?” she asks, although looking back on this moment later you’ll realise her words were a provocation. </p><p>helena, sitting next to her bike, has stilled. you catch her sideways glance in your direction and a voice in your head tells you to just let this go. you know you should leave, that you should take a drive and - </p><p>you think of the cross-town drive you made with your stomach in your throat. you think of skidding into a warehouse complex seeing renee leaning against a brick wall with her arm held close to her stomach and helena zip-tying hands behind the backs of unconscious thieves. she had been limping, still has the limp and the black eye and – </p><p>you can’t let this go. </p><p>you look at renee and exhale “yeah,” you say “i do.” </p><p>“so, come out with it.”  she says, leaning back in her chair. </p><p>“what you did today was stupid.” you tell her “it was reckless and unnecessary. like, what, you couldn’t wait half an hour to get your ass kicked, huh? all you had to do was wait for helena and i to get there and we could have stopped them.” </p><p>them, the thieves robbing shipments of medical supplies bound for the free health clinics in gotham. the well-armed thieves that renee had practically stumbled upon and in a moment of sheer stupidity had decided to take down on her own. </p><p>“i didn’t have half an hour,” renee fires back “they were loading those supplies into a van. if i had waited we would have lost those supplies. i had to act.”</p><p>you shake your head “bullshit.” you say, crossing the space towards the table she’s sat at “you could have tailed them, you could have, oh i don’t fucking know, called the police? you didn’t have to go in there on your own, that was a stupid move.”</p><p>“since when do you get to tell me what’s stupid?” renee counters. </p><p>for long seconds you just stare at her “you could have gotten yourself killed.” you tell her, setting your mug down “you could have gotten helena killed. why are you okay with that?” </p><p>helena is facing you both, standing and watching this unfold. there’s discomfort in her stance, in her posture but the anger in your veins consumes your attention. you can’t believe what you’re hearing from renee, can’t understand her logic, even as she continues to speak </p><p>“because it’s a risk we have to take in our line of work. sometimes we can’t just stand around and let things happen.” renee fires back, staring you down “or, i can’t.” </p><p>her statement confuses you. it’s like she’s referencing a time you can’t remember, some event where you stood by and – </p><p>oh. </p><p>time slows and you go very still. </p><p>you know what she’s thinking about. you remember, some months ago now, when you had spoken about the realities of working for roman sionis. of course, you had thought you were confiding in friends. you had taken a chance with the people who have saved your life on more than one occasion. it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but until now you thought it had been worth it. you had never expected renee to dredge up the past like this and throw it in your face.</p><p>“don’t go there.” you tell her, voice low and dangerous. there’s a buzzing in your ears, a tension rippling across your shoulders and your hands have curled into fists. </p><p>“why not?” renee presses “at least i never stood around while victor szaz ripped someones face off in front of me.” </p><p>even as she speaks, the memory is surfacing in your minds eye. you remember every detail about the room, from the decorations to the metallic tang of blood that filled the air even before the man had stopped screaming. you remember standing against the back wall trying not to watch but knowing roman wouldn’t let you get away with it. </p><p>“fuck you.” you spit, acrid bile rising in the back of your throat the man, </p><p>the faceless man, </p><p>you can’t escape the memory of him hanging upside down, blood dripping along the curve of what was his face and pooling on the floor. worse than that, victor szaz laughing in glee. </p><p>during this recollection, somehow, you’ve started moving. your legs acting when your brain hasn’t caught up to them yet. there’s not much room between yourself and renee and what little protection the table provided is gone as you shove it away. you barely feel its weight as you use both hands and there’s the screech of wood across concrete echoing around the space. in front of you renee is standing up, squaring up to you as you’re doing the same to her. you don’t give a shit about the pieces of her gun that you’ve just scattered across the floor or her busted wrist. </p><p>fuck her. </p><p>it seems that renee feels the same way because before you can deck her, or slap her or whatever the fuck you were planning on doing, </p><p>renee is using her momentum from standing and shoving you backwards. </p><p>“what are you gonna do canary, huh?” </p><p>you’re charging forward when suddenly helena is stepping into your path. she’s got one hand on renee’s chest and in your haze of rage you hear a firm </p><p>“back off renee.” come from her. </p><p>you don’t see if renee listens, can’t see because in one motion helena is shifting her position and she’s standing directly in front of you. helena doesn’t touch you, just stands there, aware that you’re a livewire. she’s poised, ready to move if you make another charge at renee. you want to but, </p><p>but helena is close enough that she’s all you can see. her bruised and swollen eye still focused on you. she’s taken a step forward, getting in your space so that to get to renee you have to get past her. </p><p>she keeps your gaze, holding you there. </p><p>the longer you’re standing there the more you realise that you’re breathing hard with your hands clenched into fists and shaking. it’s only when seconds have passed, and you feel the ache in your jaw that you realise you’ve gritted your teeth and – </p><p>and you’re startled to realise that there’s a tear rolling down your cheek. first one, then another and another. it startles you into stepping back, away from helena. </p><p>“dinah,” helena is continuing to say and you hear the strain in her voice – this sort of mediation isn’t her forte and you know that she’s concerned “dinah,” she says and she’s just still watching you.  </p><p>there’s long seconds of tense silence where you’re trying to stop the tears. </p><p>“fuck.” you curse “fuck, i’m fine. i just,” you shake your head “i need to fucking get out of here.” you say, patting at your pockets, feeling for your keys. </p><p>“dinah,” but this time it’s renee speaking and while helena whips around with harsh </p><p>“don’t.” </p><p>you reply with a far more biting “get lost renee.” unable to say anything else for the rage consuming you.</p>
<hr/><p>you’re outside, leaning against the brick wall of the warehouse and trying to take something that resembles a deep breath while also puking your guts up. </p><p>decidedly not a fun combination. </p><p>you’re thankful that it’s dark, that it’s cool and the warehouse district is abandoned at this time of evening. you can hear music from a few blocks over, no doubt the crossfit box having their last class of the night with the doors open, letting cool spring air into the gym. the thought is a momentary distraction but not enough to soothe the roiling in your stomach and you heave again. you’re doubling over and feeling bile escape onto the pavement. </p><p>fuck. </p><p>fuck this and fuck renee. </p><p>you raise your hand to slam it back against the brick wall – seemingly the only acceptable outlet for your anger, but cool fingers grab your wrist. you look up sharply and see not renee, but helena. her grip is loose and her gaze soft, you could break free if you wanted, </p><p>but you don’t. </p><p>instead, you look away. </p><p>“you’ll hurt yourself.” helena says, and then “that’s what you say to me.” she adds “when i’m,” she trails off “you know.” she pauses again, and you hear her take a steadying breath “can you look at me?” </p><p>the softly spoken question is one that you’ve asked helena more than once. more than once when she’s spiralling into the depths of memories unable to be forgotten. when she’s caught like that, helena flinches at touch – so it’s all you can do is just ask her to look at you, ask her to ground herself by focusing on you. </p><p>you find yourself able to do the same with her now. </p><p>you lean back against the brick wall, gripping at helena’s hand and looking over at her. the deepening bruise across the swell of her cheek is a reminder of all your anger and all that renee has said to you tonight. a boundary had been crossed, a trust broken and part of you suspects that renee knew that as soon as the words had been spoken. yet, yet you can’t forget them. just like you can’t forget victor szaz and his hands covered in blood. </p><p>the memories make your stomach turn and anger burn through your veins. anger at renee, at roman, at victor, </p><p>at yourself. </p><p>“i can’t stay here.” you say, voice rough from pent up emotions and the sear of vomit. </p><p>“you shouldn’t be alone,” helena starts and then “i don’t want you to be alone.”  her fingers are still soft against your wrist. it’s a delicate touch, as if helena’s afraid that she’ll scare you with anything firmer “okay?” and there’s tension in her voice, discomfort of the situation she’s in but unwilling to shirk away from it, from you.  </p><p>you can’t argue with her really, so you nod once and take a breath in through your nose. </p><p>“and i don’t think you should drive.” helena says, quickly, as if she didn’t expect you to agree so quickly.  </p><p>you hesitate, feeling her eyes on you still – but after a beat you hand over your keys. after all, she’s the only person since the theft of your car by one harley quinn who has been allowed to drive it. </p><p>helena’s fingers skate across yours lightly “thank you.” she says. </p><p>you don’t say anything, instead allowing helena to guide you towards where your car is parked in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp.</p>
<hr/><p>you realise, ten minutes into the drive, that helena’s not heading back to your apartment. instead, she’s driving back to hers. you shift in your seat, realising that you don’t mind. you realise as well that helena has turned the radio on, not for her benefit but for yours. she’s clearly just turned it on, left it at whatever station you were flipping through the last time you drove. which somehow, is a foreign news program you’ve never heard before. if helena’s noticed, she hasn’t changed the channel. you glance over at her, seeing the way she drives your car with both hands textbook position on the steering wheel, at ten and two. you turn your attention back to the nearly empty stretch of road in front of you. there’s another car some distance ahead preparing to turn right at the light, but otherwise you and helena are alone on the streets in this part of the city. </p><p>your stomach has settled somewhat although there’s still the sour taste of vomit in your mouth. twisting in your seat, you reach around the footwell of the backseat until your fingers curl around a half-finished bottle of water. you pick it up and untwist the cap, downing the contents in two long gulps. </p><p>it helps. </p><p>you put the bottle into the cup holder as helena makes a left into the warren of one-way streets that surround her apartment complex. months ago, after your fifth time missing the turn to her street, you asked helena why she chose such an inconvenient neighbourhood to live in. you remember the way she had looked away from you and your stomach dropped as her shoulders curled in and you watched a moment of vulnerability unfold </p><p><i>“easier to tell if someone is coming for me.”</i> she says <i>“you know, because if you can’t remember the turns then bad guys don’t have a chance.”</i> </p><p>you remember understanding then, really understanding, just how haunted helena is by her past. you remember the embarrassment that swept through you at not piecing together the answer to your own question. </p><p>in the present, with the garage door to the underground parking complex rolling up, helena pulls you from your thoughts with a hesitant “i hope you don’t mind that i came here.” she starts “i should have asked-”</p><p>you shake your head “it’s okay.” you tell her “here is good.” </p><p>here, her place, is probably better than your own. not when your own apartment is littered in the memories of coming home after the night roman sionis made you and victor szaz dispose of the then faceless mans body. you remember the weight of him, the way his arms, his chest were slick with blood. you remember the way victor szaz started walking you through the process of dismemberment. </p><p>you had last thirty-five seconds before turning around and telling roman he hadn’t hired you to do that shit. it was a remark that hadn’t gone down well. roman had forced you to watch the proceeding with blood drying on your hands. </p><p>you realise the radio is silent, the car off. you feel helena watching you again through one swollen lid. </p><p>“sorry.” you say, voice gruff and tense, moving to get out of the car. </p><p>“don’t be.” helena says, mirroring your actions. you shake your head at her words “i mean it,” helena presses, falling into stride next to you “it’s what you tell me.” </p><p>“it’s not the same thing.” you say, waiting for helena to use a key to open the door to the stairwell. </p><p>“why not?” helena asks, and you hear in her voice that it’s a genuine question, that she genuinely wants to know why you think there’s a difference. </p><p>all the same, you bristle at the question – still at least partially unwilling to speak the truth you’ve long since come to understand about the root of your emotions. </p><p>luckily, or maybe not, helena is walking ahead of you now, leading the way up the stairs to the ground floor where you’ll get the elevator to the fifteenth floor. she misses the tension that ripples across your body, but as she looks over her shoulder at you, helena stops on the stair. you, deliberately not looking at her, only avoiding running into her because of the hand that comes to your shoulder. </p><p>“it wasn’t your fault.” helena says. </p><p>you blink and shake your head. despite her social awkwardness, helena is more perceptive than anyone you know, except maybe cass. you know she watches body language, using it as a means of discovering people’s tells, using it to figure out the best way to hurt them. you know as well though, that helena’s watches body language to understand what’s happening around her when the social context escapes her. you have no doubt she’s doing that now, matching your present body language – one clenched fist, rounded shoulders, avoiding eye contact – to when she’s seen you like this in the past. probably the same night you first admitted what you were forced to witness while working for roman sionis. </p><p>“you don’t believe me.” helena adds, when you’re still not looking at her, still fixating on a particularly interesting patch of chipped white wall paint. </p><p>“i don’t want to have this conversation here.” you say, aware that while you will talk to helena, while you will be honest with her, </p><p>you can’t do it in the stairwell to her apartment. </p><p>“okay.” helena nods “that makes sense.” and to your relief, she starts walking once again.</p>
<hr/><p>there’s a certain comfort you find in helena’s apartment. sure, you both have your own places – but more often than not you share the same bed. standing in the small hallway leading off from the front door you hear helena behind you slotting the deadbolt into place. you stand there, aware that you could take your shoes off or hang your jacket up or do anything besides stand here in the soft darkness. </p><p>behind you, around you, helena is moving. you hear the slide of her jacket and the sidestep she takes to hang it by the door. you hear the small grunt as she peels her boots off one at a time and places them side by side with their toes pointing at the wall. it’s routine, a series of habits that you normally perform in a sort of unrehearsed synchronicity. it does not happen tonight. instead, helena shifts, sock-clad and watching you carefully “dinah,” she says. </p><p>you glance over at her and then look away “renee isn’t wrong.” you tell her. </p><p>helena blinks but says nothing. you see the disagreement flash in her eyes, but she remains neutral in her stance. she’s giving you the space to keep going you realise. </p><p>you take the moment and, taking off your jacket you say “i let a man get his face peeled off.” compared to the violence you’ve experienced or been a part of, the horror inherent in what happened to that man is something else entirely. </p><p>“what would you have done instead?” helena asks, walking down the short hallway through to where it opens up into an expansive kitchen-living room open space. </p><p>you follow, considering her question and moving towards the couch that you’ve fallen asleep on more than once. you sink into the seat, binging a knee to your chest and wrapping an arm around your shin. you study the coffee table you helped helena pick out, eyes following the join of glass to wood. to your left, in the kitchen, you hear helena moving. there’s the open and close of a cabinet, the running of a tap. there’s the settling of glass upon granite countertop and the sound of the freezer being opened at the gentle sigh as the cool air washes over her bruised face. there’s the shuffling of items and then – </p><p>“i could have tried to stop him.” you say finally “roman. i could have reasoned with him.” </p><p>there’s the thump of the freezer door being shut and the soft slide of glass against granite before footsteps crossing into the living room. it takes a moment before helena appears in the corner of your vision. she sits on the edge of an armchair, glass resting on the coffee table and with one hand holding an icepack to her face “do you think that would have worked?” she asks. </p><p>“probably not.” you answer without any hesitation, there was never reasoning with roman sionis “strong chance i would have been the one getting my face peeled.” </p><p>helena pales visibly and shakes her head “okay,” okay says “so that wouldn’t have worked. what else would you have done?” </p><p>you lean back into the couch; foot dropping to the floor and consider. part of you understands what helena is getting at, part of you wonders if she’s pulling this line of questioning from the therapy she’s been going to twice a week. </p><p>you exhale through your nose “fine.” you admit “fine, nothing i could have done would have saved his life.” you tell her “he was dead as soon as roman had szaz hang him up by the ankles. but i just stood there and watched. stood there and let it happen.” </p><p>“if you had tried to do something, roman might have had you killed.” helena points out “he seemed like the type.”</p><p>you swallow hard, remembering the night in the club. the night in the club where he made that woman get on the table and dance with less clothing on than she started the night with. you remember having to press the palms of your hands into the wall just to stop yourself from charging at him. </p><p>“he was.” you affirm. </p><p>“you couldn’t have done anything that wouldn’t have put your life at risk.” helena says. </p><p>you’re not so sure. </p><p>“i,” you start “i could have killed him.” </p><p>helena tilts her head at you, an unconscious encouragement to go on. </p><p>“i don’t know.” you sigh “i guess i could have shot him. i was carrying. i could have shot him and saved him the pain. i’d probably feel better about that than letting him get his face peeled off. szaz would have thrown a fit, but roman might not have cared. hell,  as long as the guy ended up dead he might have fucking loved it.” </p><p>“why’s that?” helena asks. </p><p>“it would have looked like i was participating.” you tell her “really getting into the whole, being a bad guy thing.” </p><p>“or maybe he would have taken it as you pussying out.” </p><p>you bristle, looking over at helena with a glare as your mind is taken to a different time. a memory swims to the surface and in the blink of an eye you’re not in helena’s apartment – you’re back in his club. you’re standing stock still watching him humiliate a woman who had the audacity to laugh at the wrong time. you’re watching roman make the woman’s partner cut and then violently rip off her dress. acrid bile has hit the back of your throat and the fear in the womans eyes, the humiliation – and szaz laughing. szaz enjoying, no, loving what was unfolding in front of him. </p><p>your helplessness to do anything but watch without watching – redirecting your gaze just enough that you could avoid the worst of it without attracting roman’s attention. even then, when the woman’s terrified breathing, when the sobs rising in her chest had become more than you could bear, </p><p>instincts kicked in. you started moving, making a beeline for the door and roman,</p><p>fucking roman, </p><p>he had grabbed you and – </p><p><i>“dinah.”</i> </p><p>that’s not his voice. </p><p>“dinah.” the voice comes again and you blink, </p><p>“shit.” you say, although it’s more of a gasp “shit.” </p><p>helena is studying you, watching you with concern “are you okay?” she asks. </p><p>a lie sits on the tip of your tongue and you swallow it down “there was a time,” you start “at the club. when roman,” you take a deep breath and explain all that had unfolded. it’s agonising and there are tears in your eyes when you finally conclude with “i let it happen, i,” you take a breath “i let him do that to her.” you look at helena “and i can’t stand that about myself.” </p><p>she matches your gaze evenly “roman sionis was an unpredictable monster.” helena says by way of explanation “and he had victor szaz has his fucking companion. i think the safest thing you could have done was let it happen.” </p><p>you look away from her “then why do i feel shit about it?” </p><p>it’s not a question you expect an answer to, but helena gives one all the same. </p><p>“because you’re a good person.” she says. </p><p>you snort “right.” </p><p>“it’s what you tell me,” she counters “all this stuff i’ve said, about it not being your fault, about the fact that you’re a good person, it’s what you tell me. and if i’m a good person, then you are too, okay? yeah, we’ve done some fucked up shit. we’ve let some fucked up shit happen because we had no other choice, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. it makes you smart. it kept you alive.” </p><p>you silent for a moment, not sure helena’s ever said so much in one go and she looks over at you with a fire in her eyes you haven’t seen before “i’m serious, dinah.” she says “what renee said was out of order. what you did, or didn’t do, kept you alive long enough to help kill roman and szaz. they’re dead now. they can’t hurt anyone else.” helena exhales and drops the kitchen towel wrapped ice pack into her lap “and that’s what matters.” </p><p>“it did feel good to stab szaz.” you admit. </p><p>“i know.” helena replies and you’re reminded that she does know, perhaps better than anyone, how satisfying it would have felt to finally be able to kill the prick. </p><p>you exhale, feeling the swell of impending tears and biting them back “a lot of shit that roman did,” you say “i can forget about. but that, that day.” you shake your head “i can’t forget what it looked like, what that mans screaming sounded like, what the room smelt like with all that blood. and what renee said dragged all that shit back up.” </p><p>helena nods but doesn’t speak. </p><p>“it doesn’t excuse what she did today either.” you add hotly “what she did today was reckless as fuck and there was no need for it. the whole, ‘i couldn’t stand by’ line doesn’t make it okay. i get that she didn’t want to lose the supplies, but she’s not a cop anymore. there’s not an entire city of people out there who can back her up. it’s you and me.” you let out a long sigh and continue “damnit she doesn’t need to be so reckless with herself.” </p><p>“you should tell her that.” </p><p>you look over at helena sharply, but once again she seems nonplussed “not right now.” she says “but eventually.” </p><p>you make a non-committal noise and then, after a moment, “what do you think?”</p><p>“about what?” helena frowns, picking at a thread on the kitchen towel. </p><p>“about what renee said.” you prompt. </p><p>“i told you,” helena says “it was wrong. i told her that, after you walked out. i told her she can’t pull shit like that again.” you blink, surprised and helena catches you “what did you think i’d do?” she asks. </p><p>you shrug, unsure. </p><p>for a moment helena looks like she’s debating something and then “can i sit next to you?” she asks. </p><p>“it’s your couch.” </p><p>she rolls her eyes “i’m serious.” she says “i don’t want to invade your space.” there’s a seriousness in her tone that all these months after being in a relationship, reminds you of how careful helena can be when it comes to social interactions – even with you. </p><p>you shift over on the couch “i like you invading my space.” you tell her. </p><p>helena smiles, abandoning her ice pack and crossing to the couch. she slides into the space next to you and reaches for your hand “we’re a team,” she says “with renee. but,” she pauses “but this, what you and i are, what you are to me,” she trails off for a moment “that’s more important. you’re more important. i,” she swallows hard “i love you.” she says “i know i don’t say it, i probably should say it more but i, i love you” she says, her voice soft “all of you, your past, your regrets, all of you.” </p><p>you feel tears prickling your eyes again and you squeeze helena’s hand, nodding hard – unable to trust your words not to betray the upswelling of your emotions. helena doesn’t move to prompt you to speak, she doesn’t do anything beyond hold your hand and then, when the tears start rolling down your cheeks, </p><p>she brings that hand to your hand, rubbing in soothing circles and bringing you into her. she doesn’t let you feel foolish for crying, just lets you work through what you’re feeling – just as you’ve done for her.</p>
<hr/><p>you should be sleeping.</p><p>you want to be sleeping. </p><p>instead, you’re curled in front of the television with some muted infomercial playing for the third consecutive time. you alternate between watching some man try and sell an overpriced blender and scrolling on your phone – as if anything across the web of social media has changed in the few minutes it’s been since you last checked. absorbed as you are in scrolling through your instagram recommendations, that you don’t miss the absence of helena’s snoring until a soft </p><p>“you can do that in bed you know,” catches you off-guard. </p><p>you look up and see helena leaning against back of the armchair, watching you with a sleepy smile. </p><p>“i didn’t want to wake you.” you tell her, setting your phone down. </p><p>“i don’t mind.” helena says “you can come back to bed if you want.” </p><p>you shake your head “i don’t think i’m going to sleep much tonight.” you tell her and you watch as helena moves over to the couch and sits next to you. </p><p>“then we can keep watching that avatar show you showed me.” she says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with ease. </p><p>“helena,” you start to protest “it’s three in the morning.” keenly aware that helena doesn’t need to be awake just because you’re scared of closing your eyes. </p><p>“i wouldn’t be awake if i didn’t want to be.” </p><p>“you’re sure about this?” you ask, turning to look at her. </p><p>“of course i am.” helena says, grabbing a blanket from the other end of the couch and inelegantly unfolding it across your lap and hers. </p><p>“thank you.” you exhale, leaning into her shoulder.</p>
<hr/><p>two days later, you meet with renee in neutral territory. namely, you meet in a diner where food and bad coffee can provide a buffer between you. for the first ten minutes not a single word is shared until finally, after ordering, renee exhales and says “i owe you an apology.” </p><p>you look up at her with a raised eyebrow but say nothing. </p><p>renee palms a steaming mug of coffee “okay, okay,” she says “i owe you one hell of an apology.” she takes a sip of the steaming drink and after placing the mug back down, renee continues “what i said was out of order. i was pissed at myself and thought that provoking you would make me feel better.” </p><p>you consider this for a moment and then “did it?” </p><p>renee shakes her head and with a humourless laugh says “not at all.” </p><p>“good.” you bite, then force yourself to exhale, leaning back into the booth “if there had been a way to stop him-“ you start, but renee cuts you off </p><p>“you don’t need to justify yourself to me.” she says, and then after a beat “although it’s not me you’re telling that to is it?” </p><p>you roll your eyes “you’ve been spending too much time with harley.” you sigh “analysing me and shit.” you shake your head “roman did a lot of fucked up shit. szaz did even more fucked up shit.” you exhale “helena keeps telling me there was nothing i could have done to stop them that wouldn’t have gotten me killed.” </p><p>“she’s probably right.” her comment makes you bristle and the words are spilling from your lips before you can stop them. </p><p>“well it’s hard to believe that when you throw it back in my face.” you look at renee across the table “i still hear that man screaming. i remember the sounds of his face being peeled,” your words are hushed, aware that even in the chaos of the breakfast rush your conversation might be considered strange “i can’t forget it. no matter how hard i try. every fucked-up thing roman did, that i had stand there and let happen,” you shake your head “i can’t fucking forget it. so i don’t ever need you, or anyone else, reminding me how it’s a little bit my fault.”</p><p>renee nods “it won’t happen again.” there’s silence, and then  after a moment “are we good?” </p><p>“we will be,” you tell her, “as long as you don’t say shit like that again.” then, “and that’s another thing,” you start “you have to be more careful.” the comment earns you a raised eyebrow, but you barrel on “you can’t be so reckless with yourself. you have a team now. you have me and helena and even quinn if she’s in the mood. you have people who give a shit about you, and that doesn’t include that lawyer ex-girlfriend of yours. so just, stop running headfirst into shit without back-up. i don’t want to bury you too.” </p><p>for long seconds renee is quiet and then with a soft smile “that means a lot, dinah.” </p><p>you fold your arms across your chest “i mean it.” you tell her. </p><p>renee takes another sip of her coffee and nods. </p><p>you wonder if she’d had doubts, if she’d needed to hear those words more than you realised. </p><p>you make a note to make sure renee doesn’t forget it – after all, you’re family. and from your experience, family have fights and they make up and they look out for each other. it can be messy, but it’s worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much y'all for all the kudos and comments on the previous works i've posted. they make my day every time. </p><p>i'm not sure i can tell you exactly where this story came from, but i wanted to start exploring the trauma dinah went through while working for roman sionis. this stand-alone piece is the beginning of that. feel free to tell me your thoughts. </p><p>find me on tumblr at 4beit.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>